For a Moment

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Along railroad tracks

Spring stood still in filmy white

Watching life rush by

© Salem Islas-Madlo 2015

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“Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke

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Here I Am

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“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.” ― Maya Angelou

My heart is open

Longing for you to see me

As I truly am

© Salem Islas-Madlo 2015

Aburrido Me Voy…Feeling Weary, I Go

Performed by Ana Gabriel

Lyrics in Spanish:
Aburrido me voy
me voy lejos de aqui
donde nadie pregunte
por que te perdi

Aburrido me voy
para nunca volver
dondequiera se muere
quien sabe querer

Si te adcuerdas de mi
no maldigas mi amor
que duro solamente
lo que dura una flor

No preguntes por mi
que no se adonde voy
ay! que triste me largo
que aburrido me voy

Si te acuerdas de mi
no maldigas . . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lyrics in English:
Feeling weary, I go
I go away from here
Where nobody asks
Why I lost you

Feeling weary, I go
Never to return
Wherever, it dies
Who knows how to love

If you remember me
Do not curse my love
That lasted only as long
As a flower does

Do not ask me
Where I’m going
Ay! How sad is my longing
Feeling weary, I go

If you remember me
Do not curse. . .

Love Isn’t Made

Performed by Jon Foreman

Lyrics:

An hour ago
I felt so low
I almost drowned
Driving around this messed up town

It’s pretty, it’s only
I felt so lonely
And I knew all night
I’d never find a face can understand how much I miss you now

And so I arrive
At the conclusion
Love isn’t made
Love doesn’t sell or pay
But we buy and sell our love away

Escaped to the water
I stare up at the stars
And moon and sky
I was lying on my back with my fingers in the sand

Alone in Miami
It sounds so funny
And yet here I am
It’s funny how life is seldom what you plan

And so I arrive
At the conclusion
Love isn’t made
Love doesn’t sell or pay
But we buy and sell our love away

Don’t let the panic bring you down
Don’t let the panic bring you down
(Don’t let it bring you down)
Don’t let the panic bring you down
Love isn’t made

(Don’t let the panic bring you down)
How could we have let this go?
(Don’t let the panic bring you down)
How could we have almost lost it all?
(Don’t let the panic bring you down)
Don’t let the panic bring you down
(Don’t let the panic bring you down)
How had we forgotten
Love isn’t made

*For you Wolf ❤

Wild Nights

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Wild nights! Wild nights!

Were I with thee,

Wild nights should be

Our luxury!

 

Futile the winds

To a heart in port, —

Done with the compass,

Done with the chart.

 

Rowing in Eden!

Ah! the sea!

Might I but moor

Tonight in thee!

~Emily Dickinson~

*photo by Goncalo Martins

http://0ce4n-g0d.tumblr.com/post/64678001170/big-bang-by-goncalo-martins-on-500px

In the Darkness

So many times we seek clarity especially when we fumble with our own fears. And sometimes the light can grow dim and we don’t even realize it. Our eyes adjust and we fumble even more…until we’re submerged in darkness. Well, … Continue reading

What Does a Tree Say?

ImagePhoto by Philippe Manguin

 “For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

ImagePhoto by Ruud Van Empel

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

ImagePhoto from Visit images.search.yahoo.com

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”

~Hermann Hesse~

*dedicated to Voyager